


A Night in the Woods

by misura



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Galahad was never entirely sure, after, whether it was bad luck or hostile design that had caused him and Tristan to have become separated from their brother knights - if any design had been involved, it was likely its aim had been him alone, with Tristan spotting the trap and choosing to get himself ensnared alongside Galahad.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizzen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/gifts).



> you have a lovely, lovely Tumblr, and I really hope someone wrote your Hannibal RPF request. <3
> 
> this was written as a treat and, as indicated by the tags, it hints at a Tristan-Hannibal connection, but it's a very faint one. this is definitely not reincarnation fic or anything like that.
> 
> on the other hand, people reading this who aren't also fannish about Hannibal (TV) should probably consider this fic labeled with a warning for disturbing implications.

Galahad was never entirely sure, after, whether it was bad luck or hostile design that had caused him and Tristan to have become separated from their brother knights - if any design had been involved, it was likely its aim had been him alone, with Tristan spotting the trap and choosing to get himself ensnared alongside Galahad.

Certainly, there had been a lot of killing. Enough to make Galahad's stomach feel close to turning, once it was over, the smell of blood and death still heavy in the air.

He doubted it had been enough to do the same to Tristan. Few things, if any, seemed to affect Tristan in any way, at least outwards.

"Galahad," Tristan said, softly, and Galahad turned, his horse quivering with exhaustion underneath him.

"I'm unharmed," he said, at the same time Tristan said, "You are hurt," which was when Galahad looked down and noticed the arrow sticking in his leg.

"Injured," he said. "It doesn't actually hurt."

Tristan gave him a slightly longer look than usual, possibly to determine whether or not his claim was based on bravado rather than truth. "It will, soon enough."

"I can ride," Galahad said, which was true. "We should rejoin the others." That, too, was truth.

"They will find us," Tristan said. "Better to treat your wound, first, and wait for them."

"I - " Galahad started.

"For the sake of our horses, if not for yours," Tristan said, dismounting.

Galahad sighed and gave in. "Fine."

His leg gave out the moment his feet touched the ground, as he probably should have known it would; he'd have fallen down like a helpless babe if not for Tristan's swiftly provided aid.

 

They made camp not too far from the battleground, with Galahad thankfully (and shamefully, he felt, for all that he had never held it against another man to faint) unconscious for part of their brief trip.

"You might be left with a scar," Tristan said, his voice sounding lightly amused, teasing. "Your first one."

"Oh, happy day. And who, pray tell, shall I be able to impress with a scar in such a place?"

"Whomever you choose to invite back to your rooms to show it to?" Tristan suggested.

Galahad groaned. Tristan had forced some spiced wine down his throat earlier, to stave off the pain, and he wagered he felt its influence, making him light-headed, for all that he was hardly unused to drink. "Is that what Lancelot does?"

"No," Tristan said. "Lancelot is simply very charming," and Galahad asked, "Is that what _you_ do?" before his wine-inspired daring would fail him.

Tristan rose. "You need food. I shall find us a meal."

"Not a lot of game around, I bet," Galahad said, not telling Tristan anything he wasn't quite aware of himself already.

"Animals are clever," Tristan agreed. "More so than humans, perhaps, who often seem to hasten towards the sound of their own death."

"They probably didn't know _you_ were going to be there," Galahad said, rather than point out that there were many people who sought to steer clear of war and battle, and yet still found themselves caught up in them, against their will.

He no longer quite considered himself one of them, much as he wished to. He knew now that he would kill to defend others - friends, brothers, or simple strangers, incapable of defending themselves.

"We," Tristan said. "Perhaps."

 

Galahad dozed for a while, waking to Tristan building a small fire. Presumably, there was no risk of anyone other than Arthur finding them, which was welcome news.

"That was quick," he said, although he had no idea if that was true. "Got lucky?"

Tristan made no reply, but shortly after, Galahad's nose picked up the smell of meat, roasting, so he presumed that was answer enough.

His stomach rumbled.

"Good," Tristan said. "You are awake and hungry."

"Better than if I'd been asleep and not hungry?" Galahad asked.

"In that case, I should have worried you were dead," Tristan said, which was a bit of an exaggeration, surely; Galahad's wound had hardly been as serious as all that.

"Thanks?" Galahad said.

"Welcome," Tristan said. He might have been smiling, but it was hard to tell, in the flickering light of the fire. "Now, eat."

 

The fire had slowly burnt down until mere embers remained.

Galahad wondered how many hours still remained until daybreak. The forest was dark all around them, and as near-quiet as it ever got, on days when there was little wind.

Tristan was a dark shape on the other side of the fire, propped up against a tree. Galahad thought him asleep until he moved, shifting his position.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"No," Galahad said. His head still throbbed, and he had little desire to add to it by drinking even more wine. His mind cast about for some other subject to discuss, something to distract Tristan from this notion of his that Galahad was his responsibility in some way, and required nursing. "The meat."

"What of it?" Tristan asked.

"I didn't recognize the taste," Galahad said and then, to not sound ungrateful, "I liked it, though."

"I could have fed you stringy beans and you would have liked them," Tristan said.

Galahad shook his head, then recalled his headache and stopped. "I would have recognized stringy beans. What kind of animal did you find?"

"A foolish one," Tristan said, which was no kind of answer. "I seasoned the meat with herbs that should help ward off infection."

"You know a lot about this country," Galahad said.

"As much as is necessary," Tristan said. "To survive."

"Do you think you'll miss it? After, I mean?" Galahad dreamt of home, sometimes. Often.

"The others, perhaps," Tristan said. "You, certainly."

Galahad's face felt hot. He was grateful for the dark. "Why me?"

Tristan shrugged and threw more wood on the fire, temporarily reviving it. "Why not you? Do you think so little of yourself, that you judge yourself unworthy of my affection?"

"You like wild things," Galahad said. _Falcons and horses and the thrill of a perfect kill._

"Then perhaps I see something in you that you have not yet seen yourself," Tristan said.

Galahad tried to laugh, but his throat felt dry. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Is it?" Tristan sighed. "Sleep, Galahad."

 

Galahad slept and dreamt of running through a dark forest, his hooves leaving a too clear trail on the forest floor and his antlers a heavy weight on his head.

He knew he was being hunted as surely as he knew he was being lured somewhere - or driven, perhaps, the hunter and the lure being one and the same, somehow, both working towards the same goal.

And then he woke up and discovered that reality was much worse than any dream.

Bors had found them.

 

"Snug as two peas in a pod, our two lovebirds," Bors said, for perhaps the dozenth time since they had rejoined the others. "Like kittens."

"Mixing metaphors a bit, aren't you?" Lancelot said, smirking.

Bors shrugged. "If the shoe fits."

"We were _on different sides of the fire_ ," Galahad said, also for perhaps the dozenth time.

"So you heard me coming and decided to act like nothing happened," Bors said. "Well, _Tristan_ heard me coming, anyway. Man's got ears like an eagle's got eyes."

"Whatever the truth may be," Arthur said, loudly enough to make both Bors and Lancelot sit up a little bit straighter, "I am sure that I speak for everyone when I say that we are glad to have refound you both, in relatively good health."

"Thank you," Galahad said, a little stiffly, and Arthur nodded, once, while Bors mouthed 'kittens' at him.

It was going to be a long ride back to the fort.

**Author's Note:**

> there was, at some point, a conversation taking place in my head where Galahad finds out what he's eaten and Tristan pragmatically points out that the dead guy didn't need it anymore while Galahad did, so really, what's the fuss about?
> 
> in the end, I didn't really spot a suitable place to slip it in. it probably didn't help that I pictured Galahad as somewhat less than receptive to that argument.


End file.
